


Of bitten apples and cold sweats

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I would love to paint you gold once again, all in the glory of Apollo and your beauty as an offering to the Gods only I can touch and see. To touch you until you come undone thanks to me, Aphrodite and Priapus themselves being jealous of such a sight ”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of bitten apples and cold sweats

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 at Iwaoi tumblr week. Prompt : reincarnation.

Their memories of their past lives weren’t overwhelming like many stories about it made them out to be. It wasn’t the great show of remembering everything down to what they wore during their lives; it was more like snippets, flashes of big and colorful temples, red blood battle fields under the sun and the warmth of the bloodied sand.   
It was more about knowing, undeniably and utterly, who they once have been without any doubt; knowing intimate and private things that History had forgotten, things that held onto their identity as a whole : lessons they had, smells and sight of lost ages that stayed in their brains like they could still touch the statues In Athens.  
But at the same time, it was also knowing who they were this time, never losing sight of their present because it was as important as their pasts and could never be replaced, so they clanged into it like they could drown in their memories.

It was discovering a love that you thought granted, discovering again your loved one as if you had met them for the first time again. How they had changed, and not at the same time; marveling again at the chance you had to be with them again, throughout ages.

\----------

 

The first thing that they had to know without a shadow of a doubt was that the other also knew what was happening.  
I the swarm of memories that was theirs because they lived it, but at the same time so foreign because they knew they weren’t them anymore, had been terrifying during childhood, nights spent terrorized by blood and battles; they soon realized what it meant when they grew up to dissociate and accept who they were, who they are now and the vows they made to each other at each time. They always had hoped to find the other again, always paired together even through the depths of Hell, to know if their pleas have been heard in the entire Pantheon, never to live without the other, never to seem them die countless time.

 

When Iwaizumi was Hephaistos, he never had thought twice about knowing he also once had been Patroclus as much as Alexander knew he had been Achilles. It was just how things were, one step beyond being compared to them by their teachers or friends. But here and now when they were only teenagers readying not for battle and blood and drinks but for practices and exams, Iwaizumi allowed himself to doubt despite all the signs that showed that his doubt was unfounded, like usual.

Because there was something undeniably proud, that went beyond the notion of self-confidence, about how Oikawa walked and talked. The way people were attracted to him, noticing him even when he did nothing, like he had this aura that could do nothing but bring people out of their shells to talk to him, hoping they would be noticed in return.  
It was also how he could bring the team up in the worst moment, knowing what to say, knowing how to raise their spirits and make them trust and believe in him even in the worst moments. Like he was still this grand emperor and conqueror that turned heads even when he was a teenager in Macedonia; like this godlike warrior that they heard so much about when they were still learning under Aristotle; and Iwaizumi could only sigh as much suffering as he was amused that it still happened even after thousands of years and a utterly different culture.

Relieved that things were still the same, whoever they had become, that it was a part not of their pasts, but of their personality.

That himself probably hadn’t changed much either, always the great companion and bodyguard, the only one that Oikawa truly accepted grief and aggravation from because it was something born out of here, of decades spent together through battle and death and grief when they are still only 17.  
Someone, he hoped, could always be reliable, the strength in the shadow, that would be missed if disappearing; a solid presence no one really notice but knew was here.

It was these little things that shadowed the heart wrenching doubt that Iwaizumi had sometimes, in the days he could not believe, would not believe the chance they had again.

Ad one day when they were alone, when Oikawa first chuckled, almost breathless when he had been called ‘The Grand King’ by Karasuno again and could not retain his amusement any longer, Iwaizumi could only slap him on the head, not even phased by the deeply amused and pleased smile that would appear on Oikawa’s face. Often enough, his cocky attitude was subdued whenever Iwaizumi would chastise him, and it was only when he felt utterly confident, and smugger than usual that he would turn around and look at Iwaizumi in the eye and add

“You would deny me that pleasure, my Patroclus ?” with a seriousness in his eyes that contrasted with the smugness of his expression and Iwaizumi could only kiss him deeply, murmuring “Never my King” almost reverently only for Oikawa to hear, like he has always done and would continue to do so until he could not wake up in another body.

The smugness and pleased expression that followed him for a few hours straight after that earned him a few balls in the head, because as much as Iwaizumi was also pleased with the whole ordeal knowing that he still had a place much more important than anyone could dream of; the only sight of his cunning smugness written all over his face made his hackles rise.

The text messages he would receive late at night, Oikawa asking him relentlessly about his crown or his lost riches with so much emoticons made so that Iwaizumi could not stay mad at him any longer, a breathless laugh in his throat before asking him again to just shut up for once.

 

\-----

There were maybe downsides on knowing who they were and Oikawa having the power to make him embarrassed or angry with a single gesture coming from an old age, no one else truly understand their meanings.

It wasn’t the cockiness and determination that came with so much war and fame and loss that made Iwaizumi embarrassed and displeased with Oikawa’s much childish ways, looking out for people’s attention and acting way out of what was his usual behavior.

Oh no. It was the simple and oh so sweet gestures he made, like Oikawa still had to court him because he thought Iwaizumi could still look at other people and fall in love with them even if he had been taken by his beauty and character for two lives already, never being able to look seriously for someone else, because nobody else could complete him as much as Oikawa did; following him till death did them part.  
It was something Iwaizumi still wasn’t used to, especially now : sweet gestures that he was the only recipient of, a rare type of seriousness on Oikawa’s face that told of his fears that only him could decipher.

Iwaizumi could deal with his arrogance, with how he would joke around and parade like he was in the Games in Athens or after a victory instead of a classroom or the volley ball court. He could also deal with the sudden focus and seriousness that undeniably put his health in danger and Iwaizumi had to make him stop because for once, they weren’t in any danger and Oikawa needn’t prove himself again, that there wasn’t any urgency in their life anymore.

But here, when Oikawa would leave a few hints, like throw half eaten apples to the disgusted sound of their classmates to him with a cocky smile and Iwaizumi could only catch them, looking at him with exasperation as he winked and turned around like he hadn’t said that he loved Iwaizumi as much as he had loved Patroclus and Hephaistos, and like how he would love the one he might become after this.

 

Like he wasn’t secretly overjoyed with the fact that Iwaizumi caught it without afterthoughts despite this new culture knowing it only to be a waste of food, and thus proving the return of his feelings once again in the symbol of their old Goddess, like they were still children proving their love to one another in front of all the audience that praised their beauty.

\------------

People, when they talked about reincarnation, thought it was a nice feeling, that knowing who you were once was a blessing in itself. That to share it with someone was something to cherish and be proud of.  
Most of the time, they were right. It allowed Oikawa and him to share things, to know each other so well they truly complimented each other; they discovered things about themselves and their relationship through memories of lost ages and their bright childhood in Macedonia.  
But there were times Iwaizumi cursed all the Gods he had worshipped until he could find his breath again and see Oikawa’s face.

It was the days he would woke up, absolutely terrified and in cold sweat, chest moving heavily and painful, grasping the bed sheets as he tried to find his breath again, curling around himself as fear and terror gripped him again.  
It was when he would remember death. Death of his brethren on the battlefield, looking at the glassy eyes and bloodied lifeless corpse as he would have hoped to spend another night, laughing and drinking with them until the Sun rose again and they would have to fight again. It was the grief that followed and the prayers to the Gods not to be the next as they fought endlessly; slaying so many men his hands could still feel the blood of his enemies, of his friends instead of the feeling of the sheets under him.

But… it was also his own death. Cold, gripping at his stopping heart as nothing but darkness enveloped him, last thoughts of his King, of his companion as he laid down, bleeding out or his own body betraying him, poisoned.  
It was the fear never to wake up again in his room, phone besides him, fear of never to see Oikawa again, to have left him alone once more after all they shared. To not feel anything, lifeless corpse waiting for another chance, thousands of years wasted in a minute.

And Iwaizumi could only gasp, trying not to cry as he woke up with a startle and everything he could think of was cold, darkness and numbness.

Those days, he would search fanatically for his phone, messing his room so much and not caring for the noise until he could call Oikawa, reassuring himself that it was all a dream. That his soul was only mourning for his past lives, for what he had lost as to warn him not to make the same errors again, like his body protested against the stiffness of death and forced him to move, to hear the loved voice again until it warmed his heart and his soul.

Curled in front of his bed, the only thing he could hear on the phone was Oikawa’s ragged breathes, and echo of his own as they tried to control it, knowing finally that the other was safe. As he still tried to control his breathing, hand gripping his shirt harshly he heard Oikawa’s voice rise, almost trembling.

“… I thought you died again. I saw you die, saw your corpse in my dream like all the other times and could do nothing but weep and curse the Gods to have fetched you out of my grasp again.”

“I was afraid to have died again, I could not wake up, I could not move and I thought I wouldn’t see you again” Iwaizumi wanted to tell him, to answer him to prove he wasn’t dead, not now, not when they could grow old together finally. But only a breathless laugh could escape his lips as he unclenched his hand and finally calmed down, hearing that voice that could make him go to the end of the world and back again without a single afterthought.

“ I am here.” He only answered, still breathless “ I won’t leave you in this life or Hades will hear about me, I swear” he could only vow again and again until both of them calmed down completely.

There was nothing worse than knowing death, not once but twice, knowing that you left someone out there, alone.

But at the sounds of Oikawa’s still ragged breathes, like he fought to Hell and back to stop the tears, surely thinking about the grief and what he had felt when he had left him alone, twice. One on the battlefield, and one in India, when all they should have done is to celebrate and drink and love.

“ I can be here in 15 minutes, don’t hang up.” Was all he added before rising again, limbs still trembling, moving only by will to go there to him, because these nights always took a toll on them, and nothing could make them forget about their lives, and the only solace they could have was in the other’s arms, making sure to be alive, to see the next day without worrying about battles and poisons and concubines.

Only Oikawa voicing his acknowledgment reached his ear before he moved again, only by will power. It proved to be difficult to sleep that, even after reassuring themselves of the existence of the other

 

\------------------

Bonus :

If there was another peculiar thing about reincarnation, it was how your past lives have been perceived throughout History, finding paintings or mistaken tales.

If there was one thing with Oikawa, it was that he loved to find everything about themselves and laugh about the inaccuracy or mistakes about their past lives; or just complain about how all of the texts they had learnt, all the things they have been gifted were lost. It was the grief over part of their lives that they had lost forever, something distantly painful that would come back when they knew they couldn’t do some things like they used to, thousands of years ago.

And one day, as Oikawa looked at him as he undressed it was how he rose to embrace him, mouth and fingers already moving on his skin as he spoke with an urgency that possessed him sometimes when they were alone.

“I would love to paint you gold once again, all in the glory of Apollo and your beauty as an offering to the Gods only I can touch and see. To touch you until you come undone thanks to me, Aphrodite and Priapus themselves being jealous of such a sight ”

And Iwaizumi only made an odd sound in agreement, feeling his arousal grow as he too remembered those nights of passion between them. Not these nights before battles when they had to be with the other, afraid and desperate about what was to come, jerky movements without passion, only thinking about feeling the other for what may be the last time. But the nights they could spend together, worshipping the other as a whole, tracing bodies slowly with tongues, fingers and kisses like they had their whole lives to say ‘I love you’ in so many ways, like time itself stopped when they could love each other deeply and passionately. Again and again, no matter the tiredness of their bodies, incapable of being aroused again but needing to be touched, crying because of the sensitivity or their skin, but never stopping.

As he turned over Oikawa to kiss him slowly, slowly pressing himself against him, feeling the muscles flexing underneath the skin at the sudden contact, arousal flaring to life again as Iwaizumi let his fingers trail not only over his cheeks, but also his arms, oh so slowly.

“You’ll have to work hard to make the Gods jealous, don’t you think?”


End file.
